Never Tell A Girl You Like Her
by too-much-like-Luna
Summary: Sherlock attempts to woo John in his own special way. Or, Sherlock watches A Very Potter Musical and is inspired by Draco's rolling. John/Sherlock, despite the title.


**Title: **Never Tell A Girl You Like Her (It Makes You Look Like an Idiot)

**Disclaimer: **I own no rights to either Sherlock or A Very Potter Musical/A Very Potter Sequel  
**Summary:** _The first time John is greeted by Sherlock rolling onto his stomach on the ground, lifting his feet into the air and placing his right fist under his chin as if to lift it up, John thinks nothing of it. _

OR. Sherlock attempts to woo John in his own special way

**Notes:** So... the title. I could not think of anything else to call it (other than 'Sherlock on AVPM' which is what the document is called), so I used the quote from AVPM/AVPS even though it refers to the wrong gender. Which bugs me. But,well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

A bit of knowledge about A Very Potter Musical might be useful, while reading this fic.

**Written for the prompt: **Sherlock watches "A Very Potter Musical"  
Bonus points for references to Draco's AWESOME rolling! XD

* * *

The first time John is greeted by Sherlock rolling onto his stomach on the ground, lifting his feet into the air and placing his right fist under his chin as if to lift it up, John thinks nothing of it. Perhaps Sherlock has a new case involving an amateur gymnast, or maybe his fondness for sitting in positions that defy gravity and John's idea of comfort has spread to inventing new ways to move around. Either way, John is neither surprised nor worried.

The next day, when Sherlock attempts to drape himself over a chair and breaks its back instead, John is mildly annoyed at the fact that he will have to take possession of the chair so he can attempt to glue it back together before Sherlock decides it can be used in some bizarre experiment, but his attention is caught more by the blush on Sherlock's cheeks than his clumsiness, and John hastily goes back to eating his rotini. (Sherlock does manage to steal the chair, and John doesn't think he wants to ask about the pink bloody stuff –that is, John has to admit, probably flesh, and most likely of the human variety- that he finds, punctured on the end of all four of the chair's legs).

* * *

"You're using _your_ laptop..."John says, frowning. Sherlock looks up, startled, his frown quickly dissolving into something that looks an awful lot like panic, and he slams the lid of the laptop down.

"Of course I am," he says after a moment. "Yours was farther away."

John nods once, bemused, and walks into the kitchen.

"Sherlock!" he exclaims.

"It's a head, John."

"Yes, yes I see that. Just...cover it, in the future. And keep it away from the table."

When John looks back at Sherlock, it is to find his flatmate in the process of sliding out of his chair, completely limp.

"Sherlock?" he asks, just as Sherlock attempts to stretch himself flat and roll over. His head hitting the second chair quickly stops this endeavour, but he adapts by rolling onto his knees and leaning against his chair.

"Yes, John?"

John hesitates, distracted. "Um...are you working on a case about a gymnast, by any chance?"

"No." Sherlock's eyes glance up, to where his closed laptop rests on the table before his gaze returns to John.

"Right, then," John says, and turns back around distractedly.

* * *

Normally, John wouldn't be bringing his problems to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock, however, has spent the entire day rolling around the floor and _smiling_ as he attempted to lean against random pieces of furniture, and John has spent the day highly distracted, which he is sure is both detrimental to his work and a clear reason to question his sanity, so John feels that he is completely justified in his actions.

"Have you... noticed anything different in Sherlock's behaviour, lately?" he asks, attempting to seem casual.

"Oh yes dear," Mrs. Hudson answers, smiling. "I think it's very sweet."

"Sorry," John says, avoiding the uncomfortable feeling that usual accompanies the moments before someone says something along the lines of "You and Sherlock are shagging like rabbits, aren't you, you horny bugger?" "But _what_ do you find sweet?"

"Sherlock's posturing, of course!" Mrs. Hudson says. "Did you two have another domestic? Is that why he's trying so hard to get your attention?"

"He's...trying to get my attention?" John asks, flabbergasted.

"Well of course! Practically throwing himself at you, in his own way, isn't he?" she says, with a titter.

"No," John says. "He considers himself married to his work."

"Oh, come now dear," Mrs. Hudson says, "no need to lie to me, not when the truth is so obvious. I do hope you won't leave him hanging and forgive him eventually, though, John. He is trying so very hard."

Her expression is so sad that John finds himself saying "Yes, yes I'll be sure to do that," before he even realizes he's opened his mouth.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock doesn't come out of his room. This implies that Sherlock does actually sleep, which amazes John to such a degree that he cannot resist the temptation to open Sherlock's door and peek into his room.

Sherlock is not, actually, sleep. In fact, Sherlock seems to be very much awake and is wearing the same clothes he wore the day before. He is sitting on his bed with his laptop open on his knees, and is frowning at it when John opens the door. Immediately, Sherlock slams the laptop shut but his frown only transfers to John.

"Er...sorry." John says. "I'll just go have breakfast, shall I?"

He closes the door quietly behind him, and then presses his ear to the door.

"If you're going to try to eaves-drop on me, John," Sherlock calls from inside the room, "You should have go back into the kitchen and then attempt to walk back without any sound."

John jumps back from the door guiltily, and quickly goes into the kitchen. He does not attempt to sneak back to Sherlock's room. John has no doubt that Sherlock would know the moment John so much as turned around.

* * *

It's not an immediate thing, but, gradually, John becomes obsessed with finding out what Sherlock is hiding from John. This probably stems from the fact that Sherlock, rather than beginning to move around normally, becomes even more inventive with his new form of movement—the day of John's-certainly-not-eaves-dropping, he walks into the kitchen after a milk-run (somehow, 'shopping trips' have devolved into 'milk-runs'. John tries not to wonder what Sherlock does with all the milk, since John's never seen him drink it.) to find Sherlock spread across their small rickety table (which is miraculously free of scientific implements). The effect is rather ridiculous, since the table isn't long enough to hold all of Sherlock's body and he has had to resort to hanging his legs off the table onto a conveniently placed chair. His right arm is propping up his chin, and he's smiling at John and John... can _almost_ see why Mrs. Hudson would think Sherlock is throwing himself at John.

'Hello, John," Sherlock says, in a voice that sounds oddly...strained. As if Sherlock is trying to sound seductive. Which is ridiculous, of course.

"Sherlock," John says with a nod. "I... have milk." He holds up the shopping bag as proof.

"Yes, I can see that," Sherlock drawls.

"Er...good." John says, and then blushes for no reason whatsoever.

Sherlock cocks an eyebrow.

John blushes even more.

A Cheshire Cat grins spreads slowly across Sherlock's face.

John lowers his eyes.

Sherlock stands up abruptly, swinging his legs off the chair and onto the floor.

John shifts from foot to foot, looking at the ground.

Sherlock leans his hip against the table. He stays there for a second, just long enough for John to glance at him, before the table, already weak from taking the brunt of many of Sherlock's more explosive experiments, collapses _spectacularly_.

Sherlock, now sitting on the kitchen floor, looks so shocked and startled that John has to laugh.

He's no longer blushing, which John is absurdly grateful for.

* * *

"Oh John," Mrs. Hudson says sadly when John walks in the door.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," John says.

"I thought you should know," Mrs. Hudson whispers, glancing quickly up the stairs and then back at John, "Sherlock's in one of his _moods."_

"Ah," John says grimly.

Mrs. Hudson pats his arm sympathetically. "Have you thought about forgiving him yet, John? I don't like seeing him so desperate."

"Er, desperate?"

"Oh yes," Mrs Hudson says, nodding sagely. "Today, he insisted I watch him as he rolled around on the ground, and then judge him on how graceful he was."

"He...he did?" John asks dumbly.

Mrs. Hudson nods sadly. "Do think about forgiving him, John,' she implores. "I worry about him when he's like this. Not good for my heart, you know."

John just nods, but Mrs. Hudson seems to take it as agreement and smiles at him and pats him on the back as John walks past her to the stairs.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson's worried about you." John says. He is greeted by the now familiar sound of a laptop being slammed closed and Sherlock getting up.

"Is she?" Sherlock asks idly, leaning against the doorjamb. Suddenly, he turns around, grabs the doorjamb with both hands, and seems to attempt to lean down and sideways, except he keeps his body straight and tense so that as he leans down, his feet are forced to slide against the floor.

"I am...not going to ask," John decides, and walks into the kitchen with the milk.

He is in the kitchen just long enough to set the milk in the fridge (which is actually _free_ of body parts), realize that he should have brought butter as well, and hear Sherlock fall to the ground with a thump before he walks back out.

"No," he says. "No, actually I _do_ want to know. What's on your laptop?"

Sherlock struggles to get off the floor in a quick yet dignified manner, but John has already reached the deserted laptop by the time Sherlock succeeds in standing up. Batting away Sherlock's demanding hands as they try to reach the laptop Johns holds, he waits impatiently for it to show the internet page Sherlock had failed to exit before closing the laptop.

"Sherlock..." John says slowly once the page is brought up, "what—what is this?"

"None of your business," Sherlock says sulkily. "Give it to _me_, John."

"No, no, you're worrying Mrs. Hudson. And me, for that matter." John turns to face Sherlock, the laptop held open in front of him. "What is _this, _Sherlock?"

Sherlock stares at the Youtube page. "Nothing."

"Sherlock..." John says sternly. With a dramatic sigh Sherlock throws himself in his chair.

"It's a _play_, John," Sherlock says slowly, as if John is a very young, very slow child.

"Oh," John says, facing the laptop towards him once more and nodding at it in understanding. "About what?"

Sherlock sighs again. "Harry Potter," he says, as if it should be obvious.

"Yes, I got that from the title. 'A Very Potter Sequel' _was_ rather telling."

"It is a re-interpretation of the Harry Potter series in a format appropriate for the stage," Sherlock says. "The first component of the stage version, 'A Very Potter Musical', was performed at the University of Michigan in April of 2009 and the sequel, as you have seen, is called 'A Very Potter Sequel' and was released on the internet in July."

"You've read the Harry Potter books?" John asks.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Of _course_ I have, John. It is a literary phenomenon, and people have become obsessed with it. Murders happen, when people are obsessed." He says the last with relish.

"Right," John says. "And why did you watch this?" he gestures to the laptop.

"Because it is an _internet _phenomenon, John."

John resists the urge to mention the solar system and instead asks "This has something to do with the rolling," he gestures vaguely at the surrounding area, "and the...the leaning, doesn't it?"

Sherlock focuses on his knees.

"Sherlock," John says, "what _does_ this have to do with the gymnastics?"

Sherlock looks at the wall.

"Sherlock."

"Oh for- just watch it, John."

"Erm... okay," John says. "Should I start with the first one, or..."

Sherlock shifts his gaze to study John. "Yes," he says, curtly.

Sitting down on the sofa, John types in 'a very potter musical' into Youtube's search bar, and then sifts through the results until he finds, and clicks on, 'A Very Potter Musical, Act 1 Part 1'.

Halfway through the first part, Sherlock moves to the sofa and lays down with his legs hanging over the side and his head in John's lap so he can see the screen as well. John decides not to question his placement.

By Act 1 Part 4, John is certain that the inspiration for Sherlock's odd movements came from Draco Malfoy—his attempts at posing that inevitably lead to him rolling on the floor, the awkward shimmy that has been present in Sherlock's walk lately, his careful appearance of long limbed limpness while draping his body across any available surface, all these are clearly adapted from the musical. Sherlock, when John looks down with the intention of sharing his deduction, is watching the computer screen with an oddly focused, intense expression on his face, as though he finds the musical neither inane nor amusing, and has, instead, found some intricate puzzle in the words that Sherlock must figure out. John decides to stay silent.

* * *

By the time the credits roll—not, John notices, without playing a part of one of the annoyingly catchy songs- several bottles of beer have been drunk (by John) and it is early morning.

"We'll watch the rest tomorrow, okay?" John says to his flatmate, who hums in apparent agreement but doesn't shift from his position. John passes him the laptop, and then awkwardly holds Sherlock's head up so John can stand.

"Right, well, goodnight," John says, studying Sherlock.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock says softly, his head now resting on the sofa. John bites his lip and thinks about asking "Why Draco?" or "Is Mrs. Hudson correct?" or saying "You're utterly ridiculous, you know." But he doesn't. He just studies Sherlock for a minute longer (Sherlock staring back at him all the while, a soft smile almost stretching the sides of his mouth), releases his lip from his teeth, and heads to bed.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock makes it quite clear that he has absolutely nothing to do for the foreseeable future, but John is kept busy well into the evening (most notably by the need to do a '_butter_-run'. John thinks the change is routine is probably good for him).

Finally, when John can think of nothing else that he has to do and Sherlock's constant glare has become slightly aggravating, John grabs Sherlock's laptop and surveys the sofa with a frown.

"Here," John says, handing the laptop to Sherlock. "Find the sequel. I need to grab something."

Sherlock frowns but seems prepared to obey, so John retreats to grab a pillow from his bed. He comes back to find Sherlock spread across the sofa with the laptop open on his chest.

"Budge up," John says, and once Sherlock is upright John sets the pillow down so it leans against the side of the sofa he had occupied last night. John settles down so his back is against the pillow and his legs lay across the sofa, and then gestures for Sherlock to sit between his spread legs. Their legs take up too much room, so John has to curl one of his around one of Sherlock's, but he finds he doesn't really mind. Nor does he mind the taste of Sherlock's hair in his mouth when Sherlock shifts until John can see the laptop screen as well.

"Is this position...okay?" John asks.

Sherlock hums, and says "Acceptable."

John smiles against Sherlock's neck. "Start the show, then."

* * *

Sherlock watches the sequel with the same amount of concentration he spared for the first, and John attempts to focus on the play but keeps getting distracted by the feel and smell of Sherlock. John's arms have settled around Sherlock in a loose embrace by the end of the musical, and Sherlock's head is resting on John's shoulder and it is...intoxicating. Sublime.

"Why did you choose to emulate Draco?" John asks softly, once loud applause emanating from the laptop has distracted him just enough for him to realize that the credits have started rolling.

Sherlock sighs gustily, and stares up at the ceiling.

"He is constantly trying to impress everyone. His movements always draw attention. His poses are provocative."

"He fails, though. At the posing."

Sherlock is silent.

"See," John continues, "he _means_ to pose, but something always ruins it."

Sherlock shifts uneasily.

"He doesn't actually _mean_ to roll around on the ground."

"Of course!" Sherlock snaps. "I know that!"

"Of course you did," John says, smiling. Sherlock turns his head to glare at John's obviously deceitful tone, but John continues with his questioning before Sherlock can utter an angry retort.

"Who were you trying to impress, with the posing?"

Sherlock drops his gaze. "Come now, John," he says uncomfortably. "You know the answer perfectly well."

"I'd like to hear it, all the same," John says softly, carding fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock is silent for a moment, and then says "You."

John's smile grows wider. "So," he said, "if I were to kiss you now...you would be fine with that?"

"I would find that...acceptable."

Sherlock turns his head, just enough for John to be able to press his lips softly against Sherlock's. The touch lasts only a moment before a loud exclamation from behind them has John pulling away, startled.

"Oh dears!" Mrs. Hudson exclaims, beaming. "This is so lovely! Just wait until I tell Mrs. Turner next door! I've had her so worried about you two. I'm so glad you two have made-up." Mrs. Hudson turns to go. "I'll just get us some celebratory tea, shall I?" she says, bustling away.

John groans, and then buries his face in the crook between Sherlock's neck and shoulder.

"You're our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, not our house-keeper," Sherlock mutters, and John starts to laugh as hesitant arms work around his body until they can embrace him, and a kiss so soft that John almost thinks he imagined it is pressed to his temple.

"No more rolling around," John manages to say.

"No," Sherlock agrees, quite serious. "I rather think I've passed that stage."

_Fin_


End file.
